Loss of a Loved One
by mspotts
Summary: A small one shot about Sango and Miroku. Warnings for character death.


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AN:

** I really, really, **_**really**_** apologize for putting this fic up. My friends told me it was crappy and OOC and – worst of all – boring, even when I first wrote it three years ago and it's been at the back of my folder ever since. But I've been trying to put most of my writings on the web, even the horrifically unrealistically scarring ones, so don't take it as my usual standard (not that that's much better, lol.) I won't really care if you flame (yup, it's **_**that**_** bad) and I don't expect reviews. But if you wanna surprise me, go ahead. I'm always interested in what people think.****Disclaimer: this is a fictional story written only for my personal amusement. I own nothing, Rumiko Takahashi owns all.****

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**Loss of A Loved One**

The darkness loomed overhead like an eerie shadow, compressing the air tightly around them. It was damp, yet at the same time an icy breeze whipped through the air in motion with the haunting, gothic trees. On a sculptured hill, overlooking a desolated forest clearing stood four figures, all tired and wounded. Two males and two females, but without the common air one might find on another group of such genders.

The woman, truly a woman for all could see the proud gleam in her eye of experience and knowledge. She had lived, had performed deeds that countless others would deem inhumane. Killed thousands and lived to tell the tale. _Her_ tale, _her_ story, _her life_. There would never be another chance for her and still she rejoiced, for she was proud of living and she was proud that she had been given the chance in the first place. Offers such as those were a rare tale, as revenge is not often looked upon kindly.

His blood, his filthy, rotten blood! She was proud to spill it and see it plainly across her blade. Admittedly, she had not dealt the final blow, but the revenge was still sweet all the same.

Briefly, she wondered if it was sick to imagine herself bathing in his gory remains. Dismissing it, she already knew that it was…but then again, why should she deny herself the pleasure of imagination?

At times like these the thoughts that came to mind were sad ones, bittersweet memories of what life had been like before death and killing and _Hell._ She knew there was little hope for what could be in the future. Now it seemed as if the weight had been lifted and she could breathe properly, truly _breathe_, without tension or fear or worry. She only hoped that the others, her friends – no, her _family_ – felt as complete she did.

At her side, the man who ultimately kept both key and lock to her tattered heart stood panting heavily. His handsome face was lowered in pain and a grimace replaced the once charming smile. Pity filled her like never before, dulling the surge of triumph that she'd felt seconds before. There would never be another one like this man and still, the Gods were as stubborn as ever. In time, if he did not survive the attack being brought on by his own treacherous limb, he would be gone and remain as nothing but a memory.

It tore at her heart to see him like this, so, broken, so ashamed!

But what could she do? She was neither a sorceress nor a healer. She could only hope and pray that she would be allowed to keep him, he whom she loved most of those that she loved.

One hand, wrapped bound and sealed to protect him from himself. His other: a golden staff of mysterious origin laden with brass ornaments and trinkets. To him, life was as precious as the sweet birdsong of the air; beloved and to be treasured beyond all else. Assassins, fighters or natural born killers such as herself, usually disregarded this type of thought. Not because they did not believe, on the contrary, it was truth, but to ponder on the words his kind would say, made her eyes truly open, and her heart fill with shameful guilt.

Though he too shouldered a burden of similar guilt. The vengeful path he had walked upon until this day had made him a sinner, a killer of lives. His religion and strict way of teaching rebuked such actions and were he to live past this day, he would face severe punishment if his deeds were ever heard about.

But, she knew, as _he_ knew, that life was never as simple as following the rules mapped out for you by society or scripture, it was about making decisions and doing what you believed was right. She loved this about him, his strength and singleness of thought. Because he _could_ decide his own way of life for his own self, and he had done so, despite what his religion taught him. _Life without honour is no life at all. _Or so he claimed. She herself believed that you either lived or you did not, and if a walking, breathing corpse began to claim it _loved_… well, then that was just a figment of the living mind, that had no true bearing upon the living realm at all.

A monk, a simple Buddhist monk. Why did he have to suffer so? Why would the Buddha choose one of his own to undergo such incredible pain? It was a regular thought which brought up many different answers, yet none brought satisfaction to her soul. Time after time she wished that he was another, she wished that someone else had been chosen and he could be relieved from his pain. Yet time after time she would reawaken again to find him cursed as always, but thankfully he was still surviving.

She supposed that was one thing they had in common; they were both survivors. Both had lost parents to irreversible ends, both had lived lives deprived of love and both had sworn their lives to exact revenge on the one that had caused their suffering. But now that their revenge had been exacted, what was to become of them?

She sighed. He had never appreciated such morose thoughts, and as was common during the years they'd spent together, a little groping on his part served as a 'distraction' against them. Smiling slightly, she remembered that one fateful day when she'd accepted her feelings for the not-so-holy monk.

-- --

It was a stunning full moon and the night air was surprisingly cool. Inuyasha and Kagome were together somewhere and Shippo had already fallen asleep….thus leaving the two remainders of the group to enjoy each others deeply appreciated company.

At the time, Miroku had been no more than an ally. She considered him as a friend and a deeply respected team mate. Despite his obvious lack of control', he was charming and polite and always ready to assist her. He made her feel wanted.

That night, as they'd sat together alone, neither had spoken, while each spent the precious time sorting out their muddled thoughts which had become even more muddled as the silence grew on.

Neither had the insight to think that the other was thinking of them.

It was only when, as absently as one might brush the hair off one's face, she moved and laid a gentle hand upon his own. The feel of his hand beneath hers was startling and she moved it away in shock and embarrassment. Sango stood and made to run off, but halted at the firm hand that encircled her upper arm. He was standing right beside her with her arm in his grip. Watching her face intently.

She dared not look at him, it was too frightening, too _real_ his appraisal of her that she mocked him in front of everyone to settle her own thoughts. She couldn't believe that his fondling, his incessant teasing had any true feeling behind it. Because, because if that were true... then…

"Sango look at me."

She ignored his command and pulled her arm away from him. "Miroku, let me go!"

"Sango, stop this now."

This time, she knew it was an order that she couldn't refuse. Her head lifted ever so slightly till guilty brown eyes met his intense violet ones. Her heart contracted violently. This time when she looked at him, deep into his eyes, she knew she couldn't look away. Everything he felt for her was shining in them, so clear and bright that she felt her strong resolve crumbling into small pieces.

"We must stop lying to each other." He said calmly, releasing her arm from its hold. Deciding that now was the time to put things straight, she opened her mouth to utter a cutting retort.

"I'm sorry Miroku, I don't know what you're talking about and even if I did--''

She was cut off instantly when he grabbed both her shoulders and kissed her. Again and again.

-- --

That night, things had changed, and for the better too. No longer was she Sango, the fearless demon slayer that was tough and strong and could rival any man,… she was Sango, yes a demon slayer and yes just as good as _any_ man, but she was also a proud woman who was loved by the best man in the world.

Even if their time together was short, she had promised to be strong for his sake, and keep his memory treasured in her heart. As long as she lived he would never be forgotten. _He would never see her cry…_

A pained noise snapped her from her thoughts and she gasped, kneeling down on the matted ground. Miroku lay on the grass heaving, arching his back up in a natural gesture of pain. Hearing another groan come from his mouth she dropped her weapons and moved closer to his side so that she could wipe his sweaty forehead with her sleeve. Her sister, Kagome, was using her powers to try and ease his suffering as much as possible. Spiritual energy was sieving from her fingers and soaking his body in a whitish-blue mist. He shuddered as the murky vapor descended upon his body, and within mere moments he was trembling, teeth shattering with the force of his convulsions. A small tear fell down her face before she had time to wipe it away. _No you fool!_ She scolded herself irritably. _You promised him you'd be strong!_

But even as she thought the words, more tears were falling, heavier and more rapidly than the first. A sob escaped her quivering lips. _Oh God! I'm so weak! I promised I promised_!

But, resounding deep in her shattering heart was a cold metallic voice reminding her that it was a promise she had never been able to keep. Not to Miroku, to herself or to anyone. She wasn't good enough and she didn't deserve his love; after all, wasn't she the one who had denied his advances at every turn? Purposefully crushing him with cutting remarks meant to wound.

It was only just that she now paid the price.

"Oh Miroku,"' she sobbed. "I'm so,_ so_ sorry!"

-- --

Kagome knelt silently watching two of the strongest people she had ever known break down in each other's arms. It was touching and at the same time horribly devastating. How could fate be so cruel to the both of them? They deserved one chance at least to start anew and live normal lives without corruption and deceit and betrayal. They deserved to be happy, living together, married and with lots of children running about around them. It was what they all deserved.

But Kagome had learnt, after two rugged years in their world, just how unfair life could be. It didn't matter that the two of them only had each other, or that without the other life meant absolutely nothing. Fate was cruel, and took great pleasure in seeing the misfortune it directed upon others. Their lives were mere toys in a chest full of playthings, old and totally insignificant.

It was heartbreakingly sad, and worse still, sad that everyone accepted it so readily without a second thought. Though when she reflected on it, there didn't seem to be much one could do against such a relentless foe.

Patting Sango on the back reassuringly, she and Inuyasha helped lift Miroku up so that they could carry him back to the village.

-- --

Every day for her was a struggle.

She was accustomed to it and could endure. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

Her only task left was to remain seemingly indifferent to the movements and actions around her. It was not easy; there were many times she had wanted to lash out and scream at the injustice of it all. To cry in the arms of her friend and treasure the remaining hopes in her life.

Granted, there were very few, her hopes and dreams had dissipated with the morning wind… just as his fated life had blown away.

Maybe she should have known it, maybe she should have prepared. Maybe hoping that they had a chance for a future and a life together had all been a mistake. A simple _slip of the tongue_.

Though, in the near future when she had better reasserted herself and relieved the overload of tears and tension, she could remember him and thank the Kamis that she had been gifted with something to remember him by.

Sango smiled at herself fondly and with a Miroku-like grope she felt the surface of her expanding belly.

'_Let's just hope our son isn't a pervert too…_'

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**I guess I just couldn't stop myself from having a happy ending, lol.**


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